


The Devil's Finest Trick

by heartscanvas



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, References to Jane Austen, The Great Gatsby References, Yakuza, spy Minatozaki Sana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartscanvas/pseuds/heartscanvas
Summary: "The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist."Minatozaki Sana was a lot of things. She was a published author, she’d worked as a prison psychologist for many years, and, when the money from her writing just wasn’t enough, she became a spy for the English government. When they received an anonymous tip that Hirai Momo, the daughter of a formidable Japanese oyabun, had moved to London, Sana was tasked with finding out what exactly the woman was doing there. The absolute last thing she expected was for the woman to continuously tap into her passion for classic literature- from the works of Jane Austen to The Great Gatsby- and for that to translate into her apparent love language.
Relationships: Hirai Momo/Minatozaki Sana
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

Sana had never read a Jane Austen book. Even with an English degree, somehow, her work in its original form never came up throughout her studies. She had only ever familiarized herself with the writer’s work in an elective on adapted versions of her stories, _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ and the like. The selected course material still pulled the majority of the prose and plot from her original stories, but Sana still felt that she couldn’t say she’d truly read one of her works in completion. 

And yet there she stood in the Chawton House where the woman’s brother had lived, and the woman herself had supposedly written many of her most famous works. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she lingered at the back of a small group of visitors, a young man and woman who seemed to either be together or desperately yearning for that to become the case, a teenage girl with wide eyes behind the glasses that kept falling down the bridge of her nose, and two men probably a couple years older than herself, one of them carrying a toddler on his hip, who had their face buried in his neck, seemingly not enjoying the experience any more than Sana was. 

She stared at the woman leading their group around, pointing out everything the house had to offer. She had half expected the faculty to be dressed in typical Victorian clothes, but, thankfully, the woman was dressed more business casual- if not like she’d be attending a funeral with all of the black she wore. Sana wasn’t much better though with her black, knitted sweater and chunky, black combat boots. She hadn’t put much thought into her wardrobe that day other than knowing she didn’t want to stand out too much, and she succeeded at that at least, fading into the background for most of their tour. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t care about anything the woman was saying. It was hard not to be impressed with a four hundred year old house where one of the most prolific writers of all time had written the stories that made her into the literary figure she was today. Not to mention she pointed out what were apparently supposed to be witch marks on the wall, supposedly part of a protection ritual. There were also portraits of female writers everywhere, many of whom’s writing was part of the pro-feminist movement (from before the modern feminist movement existed). She saw the young man crinkle his nose at that and didn’t know why he was in a place like this if he was anti-feminist, but the woman by his side didn’t seem to hold his same gripes. She merely paused by one of the portraits while biting the inside of her cheek as if she recognized the face but simply couldn’t put a name to it. 

“That’s Mary Robinson,” the tour guide told her, seeing the painting had piqued her interest. “She’s most famous for when the prince of Wales was in the crowd while she was acting in a show, and he asked her to be his mistress.” She shook her head with a sigh. “But she was also a very famous writer. People used to queue up around the street at the publisher’s when her novels came out.”

Sana cocked her head to the side as she stared at the woman. It was hard to pay attention to any of the portraits when someone like her was around to serve as such a feast for the eyes. She had bleached her hair blonde, but there were hints of her natural black color beginning to emerge from her roots. She’d also gotten blunt bangs that were just short enough to not obscure her vision. If she hadn’t studied the picture they had given her so hard, Sana would think she was a completely different person. But she supposed that that was more likely than not the entire point. 

She had to keep herself from grimacing as they walked upstairs to the library. Her joints were hurting, even when she was wearing her braces. She hadn’t brought her wheelchair because the place didn’t seem very accessible to wheelchair users based on the pictures and information on the website, but she was starting to think she should have at least brought crutches or something. She didn’t complain, however. She had a job to do while she was here, and she wasn’t walking out the door without it being done. 

The woman started to stroll around the room, which was absolutely filled to the brim with books. She said something about them owning three different collections, but Sana was too busy running her hands along the titles to listen. She had thought that she had a large home library, but hers was nothing compared to this. She recognized one book as she was wandering away from the small crowd, Mary Wollstonecraft’s _A Vindication of the Rights of Woman_. She’d had to read it so many times while she was getting her degree that she could probably recite a good chunk of it from memory. 

“After considering the historic page, and viewing the living world with anxious solicitude,” she murmured under her breath, “the most melancholy emotions of sorrowful indignation have depressed my spirits…” 

The woman seemed to hear her as she paused her speech to the rest of the crowd. She stepped over to where Sana was lingering and glanced at the book over her shoulder. “She was considered the first feminist, you know,” she said, and Sana nodded. “You know it?”

“I have a Bachelor’s degree in English,” Sana replied, and the woman pursed her lips into a thin line. 

“I’m sure you’ve read it dozens of times then,” she commented.

Sana shook her head and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. “I probably have.” She hadn’t exactly been counting, but she was sure it amounted to more times than she had fingers on one hand- at the very least. 

The woman’s shoulders seemed to stiffen as she looked back at the rest of the crowd, who were just staring at the two of them conversing. She wandered back over to the group, leaving Sana be as she continued to search for books she was familiar with. 

The only room they had left was the dining room, which took them back down the stairs. It hurt less than walking up stairs, but the feeling still made Sana wince. She’d made sure she was at the back of the group, so no one would see her, but the tour guide seemed to notice as she watched everyone come down, furrowing her eyebrows as Sana trudged from one stair to the next. She didn’t comment on it though, and, for that, Sana was thankful. 

She explained to them how there were letters stating that Jane Austen herself had dined there, and she didn’t seem to find it the least bit strange when the teenage girl hopped from one seat to the next, so she could say for sure that she had sat where the author had at some point in her life. The two couples were a bit less gungho about it, simply sitting in the seats closest to them, one of the men gently bouncing the despondent toddler on his lap. Sana didn’t sit at all, knowing she’d sigh at the relief to her joints, and she didn’t want to draw any more attention to her physical state than she already had. 

Once everyone was satisfied, they moved back into the main hall by the front entrance. The teenage girl unwrapped her sweatshirt from where it sat around her waist, and the couples donned the light jackets they had left behind in the closet. They waved back to the woman as they all inched out of the door, letting the crisp fall air inside. Sana shivered slightly, but the door soon closed behind them, and it was only her and the woman left. 

The blonde turned to her with furrowed eyebrows before starting to search the closet again. “Did you come with a jacket? I don’t remember seeing you wearing one…”

Sana shook her head, tapping the woman on the shoulder to get her attention. “I didn’t have a jacket.”

“That’s what I thought, but-”

“I wanted to talk to whoever runs “The Female Spectator”, she said, and the woman turned back to face her again, chewing lightly on her lower lip.

“That would be me,” she said, and Sana pretended to be surprised.

“You’re…” She reached into her back pocket and took out a folded up piece of printer paper. “... Hara Momo?” She knew her name- both the one she went by nowadays and the one she had changed it from. She had read over her file more times than she could count, wanting to commit every potentially relevant detail to memory. Even with the new hair style and color, she knew exactly who she was the second she had stepped inside. But it was imperative that Momo didn’t know that was the case. 

Momo nodded as she shut the door to the closet, crossing her arms for a second before seemingly thinking better of it. “What did you need to talk to me for?”

Sana bit the inside of her cheek as she placed the paper back in the pocket of her jeans. “I wanted to know more about your poetry contest.”

“You’re a poet?” Momo asked, glancing in the direction of the oak paneling along the wall. 

“I consider myself more of a novelist, but I dabble at poetry...” Sana said, trailing off at the end as Momo walked over to the paneling, and Sana was genuinely surprised for once when she pulled what was apparently a hidden door among it open. Momo smiled sheepishly and told her, “The servants used to use this as a passageway. I have some paperwork back here if you’d like to come with me, and I can tell you more about the contest.”

Sana wasn’t sure if going back there with her was the safest thing she could do, but no one would ever say her job came without any risks. She nodded her head and followed Momo through a white door behind the hidden one, entering what was obviously the kitchen, although it had been adapted into more of an office space. There was paperwork in stacks of varying levels of neatness along every otherwise clear surface, but Momo seemed to know exactly what she was looking for, heading to a stack by the oven. 

“What information are you looking for?” she asked, her eyes scanning one of the flyers she picked up while putting the rest back. “This should tell you everything you need to know about deadlines and where to submit it and- well, mostly everything you need to know.” She handed it over to Sana, who cocked her head to the side as she read everything it had to offer. 

“Are there specific types of poems that are and aren’t allowed?” She folded the paper a couple of times before sticking it in her purse. “Like is it just free verse, or are we allowed to use haikus or sonnets? Maybe a pantoum?” When she had taken Intro to Writing Poetry while getting her degree, she had never expected anything she learned about in the class to come in handy, but Momo blinked a couple times like she was impressed she even knew what a pantoum was. 

“I don’t think we made any specific restrictions. I imagine most entries will be in free verse, but you should be fine, submitting anything,” she told her, rubbing the back of her neck and smiling. Sana had never understood what people meant when they said she’d glow whenever she talked about literature, but she finally got it, looking at Momo. 

“I’m sorry if you came here just to ask about the poetry contest,” the woman added, letting her arms fall to her sides. She didn’t seem to know what to do with them and, eventually, decided to even out the stacks of paperwork where they had been messed up by her coworkers. “You could have just come and asked without going on the tour and everything.

“It’s fine,” Sana replied, brushing a lock of hair out of her face and behind her ear. “I enjoyed it. I can always appreciate early female writers.” She didn’t mention her lack of experience with Jane Austen in particular, instead merely stating, “I mean, pretty much all I read about in university was white men writing about the woes of other white men.” 

Momo chuckled at that, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The magazine is named after one that was created by another early female writer,” she said, and Sana nodded. “Eliza Haywood? You know her?”

“I’ve read _Fantomina_ ,” Sana said. She paused for a moment, unsure if she should say what she was thinking. But she didn’t think it would really draw any unwanted attention from Momo. “I know she wrote _The Invisible Spy_ , but I believe it was actually Aphra Behn who was a spy while working as a writer. Was it not?”

Sana felt the wind get knocked out of her at the sight of Momo, turning to face her and genuinely smiling with teeth and all, her eyes so bright and alive. 

“She helped develop the English novel, _and_ she was a spy” she told her, gripping one hand with the other, fingers all intertwined. “I think we have _Oroonoko_ somewhere in the library. I don’t know if you saw it.”

“I didn’t,” Sana admitted, and she could hear the gears turning in Momo’s brain as she pursed her lips and stared past Sana. 

“I could show it to you,” Momo suggested, and Sana raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have another tour for like an hour,” she said, taking her phone out of her pocket to glance at the time. “Yeah. An hour.”

She looked so excited to go see it that Sana felt bad turning her down, but she was already praying for a moment to just sit down- her joints were in so much pain. “I don’t think I can,” she finally told her, her heart plummeting to her stomach as Momo merely nodded. 

The light from her eyes was gone, and she chewed on her lip as she hesitated to say whatever it was she wanted to say. “Is it-” she started, but she saw how Sana shifted her weight from one foot to the other and knew she didn’t want to answer any questions she might have- and it was none of her business anyway. 

“Can I have a pen?” Sana asked, pointing at the cup full of pens and pencils at the edge of the countertop, Momo immediately plucking one from inside it, although not without raising a single eyebrow. Sana took it and pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket again, scribbling something down before extending her hand for Momo to take it. 

Momo stared down at the numbers and the simple name “Sana” inscribed in what could have been a doctor’s handwriting- nowhere near the neat and girly kind she would have expected, although her handwriting was nothing to scoff at either. “What’s this?” she asked, finally looking up to see Sana smiling rather sheepishly. “I could have just given you my card,” Momo began, but Sana shook her head. 

“I wanted you to have it,” she said before simply turning on her heel in the direction of the hallway. Momo hesitantly followed close behind her, but Sana grinned as she opened the front door and waved goodbye. Momo lifted a hand, but the other woman was gone before she knew it, all that was left of her the piece of paper still in her hand. 

Sana walked over to her car where she had left it in the parking lot. Luckily, the visitors for the next tour didn’t seem to be there yet, so she was able to maneuver down the driveway without fear of dinging someone parked in an inconvenient spot. 

She left some kpop band’s Spotify playlist on shuffle as she made her way home. She’d have to relay the day’s events to her agent handler, but she thought that she had done a decent job. It had been awhile since she’d been tasked with anything from the MI5, and she could certainly use the extra funds. Writing books (and offering readers perks on Patreon- but only as of recently) only made so much money. 

When she got home, and her phone buzzed with a text message from where she had flung it onto the passenger’s seat, she knew she had accomplished everything she’d set out to do- and all without falling on her face or ever being in immeasurable pain. 

Hara Momo (formerly, Hirai Momo, but she’d pretend she didn’t know that) was certainly interesting. She didn’t think she would mind keeping an eye on her.


	2. Chapter 2

Sana had never known about yakuza’s families  _ or  _ baked a tiered cake before. She’d been texting Momo here and there, but she’d really learned everything she now knew in reading  _ Yakuza Moon: Memoirs of a Gangster's Daughter _ . She’d felt sick several times while reading it, and she paused pouring the batter inside one of the little pans as she cupped her mouth, a wave of nausea hitting her at the mere memory of what she’d read. She didn’t know for a fact that Momo’s experience had been the same. She seemed too cheerful in conversation to be holding onto such deep trauma, but Sana had seen people suppress any number of horrid things when she worked in prisons. Perhaps it was a mistake to agree to bake this cake- although it hadn’t exactly been her choice.

She didn’t know what it was like for other agents as she’d rarely actually gotten to talk to any others since they didn’t, typically, work together on jobs. But she got the impression that her relationship with her agent handler, Jisoo, was different from the rest. The woman was being coerced into some faculty party where they were all meant to bring in their own baked goods, and she’d agreed to bring a tiered cake, despite lacking the time and, perhaps more importantly, the experience to follow through on the promise. 

Sana, if she was being perfectly honest, also lacked the experience. But she had at least baked a cake before whereas Jisoo claimed she wasn’t even trusted with a microwave. She didn’t know how someone could be that bad at cooking, and Jisoo, admittedly, had a tendency to over exaggerate. But, somehow, she’d gotten roped into baking this cake anyway. And she wasn’t mad about it or anything. She, honestly, enjoyed the break from reading- it was like it was getting progressively more disturbing and saddening every time she picked it up- and even writing. 

She was on deadline, and that, in itself, was fine. She wasn’t a new writer. She’d been on deadline before. But it was a problem when she felt so confused about every last detail about her novel- whether she was writing from the right perspective, whether she should include dual timelines, whether anything and everything about it was right- and what the hell she was supposed to do if it wasn’t. 

It wasn’t like she had only been absorbed in reading and writing. She’d also been texting Momo, and that was always interesting. She couldn’t help but wonder how much her sunny personality was a farce to cope with whatever had or hadn’t happened in her past, but she was able to suppress those thoughts for the most part when they just talked and talked for hours about literature. 

She’d, finally, admitted that she’d never read a Jane Austen novel, and Momo had been, predictably, scandalized. She promised to come over with the best film adaptations-  _ Mansfield Park _ first since  _ Murder at Mansfield Park  _ had always been her favorite of the modern “retellings” she had read, and Momo liked it quite a lot too. Sana had been somewhat surprised that she’d insist on her watching the films rather than reading the novels themselves first, but Momo knew she was on deadline, and she probably figured it would be much easier to fit watching a movie into her rather hectic schedule rather than actually taking the time to read the source material. 

So Sana was trying her best to finish the cake before Momo arrived, but she, clearly, knew even less about baking than she thought because she had barely even started by the time she heard the doorbell ring. She prayed it was someone else (the mail guy or something- there was always mail to be had) as she wiped off her hands with a towel and wheeled in the direction of her front door. But, alas, it was Momo, DVD cases in one hand and a box of microwavable popcorn in the other, as she stood on the landing.

Sana hadn’t seen her since they first met, and she, immediately, noticed her hair had been freshly bleached, her roots no longer exposing its natural black color. Her bangs had been cut too, slightly higher up her forehead, so they revealed her dark eyebrows. She, also, wore a pair of thin, round framed glasses that she had to push back up the bridge of her nose as she smiled down at her somewhat awkwardly in the middle of the doorframe. 

“Is this a bad time?” she asked, glancing down at the towel in Sana’s hands that she was still using to wipe cake batter from her skin. She sniffed at the air and furrowed her eyebrows. “Are you baking?” 

Sana nodded sheepishly but quickly clarified, “It’s not a bad time- I’m just, uh- I’m baking something for my editor.” She gestured for the woman to come in, and she hesitated for a moment but followed Sana into the kitchen, sitting down on a stool behind the very short countertop (made, specifically, for the convenience of wheelchair users) that was littered with various cake pans of various sizes. 

“You’re baking for your editor?” Momo repeated, glancing at the mess in front of her and plucking a lock of hair out of her face and behind her ear. “Is your manuscript really that bad that you need to make her a gift?” she joked, and Sana laughed nervously. 

“Not quite.” She grabbed her oven mitts as she pulled a large pan out of the oven and set it down on the counter, so she could stick a toothpick in the center and make sure it was done. “There’s going to be a faculty party at the publishing house,” she added, and Momo cocked her head to the side and opened her mouth. But, before she could ask, Sana told her, “Don’t ask me why. I thought they only had these things closer to the holidays but, apparently, not.” 

She wheeled over to one of the other counters, grabbing a mug from the cabinet above it before glancing back at Momo over her shoulder. “Do you want coffee? Or something else to drink. I have lemonade, or you could just have a Coke or something. No Pepsi though. Not in this house.” 

Momo chuckled at that and said, “Coffee works just fine. Thanks.” 

Sana nodded and grabbed another mug before heading over to the coffee pot. “Do you like sugar or milk in your coffee? I don’t have much sugar left, but I don’t need any if you want it. And there’s plenty of milk, so that’s no problem at all.” 

Momo swiveled on her seat to watch Sana as she moved about, smiling gently and telling her, “Just a little sugar’s fine. But no milk if that’s okay.”

“Of course that’s okay,” Sana replied as she got a pinch of sugar and let it descend from her fingers into Momo’s drink. “Just makes my job that much easier.” She put her own mug down for a second before wheeling over to Momo and handing her hers. Momo quietly murmured her thanks as she watched Sana wheel back over to where her drink still remained. She sipped on it lightly as she moved back to the mess Momo peered curiously over her mug at. 

“I can help you with this if you’d like,” she said, and Sana glanced up, shaking her head and waving her off. 

“I can finish this by myself. Don’t worry.” She hissed as a small droplet of coffee spilled over the rim of her mug and onto her shirt. “Besides, didn’t you want to watch this movie?” She gestured at the DVDs in her hand before trying to rub the liquid from the fabric before it left too bad of a stain. 

“We can still watch the movie,” Momo said, gesturing to the small TV in the corner of the room. It had a DVD player and everything. “And I think I can be put to good use.” She smiled and added, “I used to work in a bakery before I got the job at the Chawton house.” 

Sana blinked and flushed before she realized what was happening. She probably looked even more ridiculous to Momo than she thought she had if she had that kind of experience under her belt. Part of her also filed that small tidbit of information into her memory bank of knowledge about the other woman. “If you say so,” she murmured but paused as she glanced down at the box of microwavable popcorn in Momo’s other hand. “You still want me to put that in?” 

“Sure,” Momo said and gestured for Sana to put her hands up in the air to catch before gently tossing it her way once she put her mug down. 

Sana searched for the instructions to check how long to put it in for. “Three minutes?”

“I usually do two,” Momo replied with a small shrug, “but I don’t know how powerful your microwave is.”

“Let’s meet in the middle,” Sana decided, pressing the buttons before turning back to the cakes. “Two and a half.” 

“Hopefully, we’ll be able to smell it before it gets too burnt,” Momo joked, and Sana smiled sheepishly. “How many layers did your editor want there to be?”

“She didn’t specify,” Sana said, rubbing the back of her neck.before craning it to the side to crack it. Momo frowned at the noise, and she decided against doing the same on the other side. “I was just gonna do three.”

“Sounds good to me,” Momo said, nodding. “Oh. Right. The movie.” She turned around to get  _ Mansfield Park _ set up, and Sana leaned an elbow on the counter, so she could prop her hand up and hold her head inside her palm as she watched the woman work. 

Papers made to look like strips of land drenched in ink billowed across the screen as names flashed about, the voice of a young girl telling her younger sister a story blossoming from a whisper into soft laughter. It was cut off by her mother, however, calling for her to hurry downstairs. 

It was quickly apparent that the girl was going somewhere without the rest of her rather large family, who lived in a tiny house with bugs covering every open surface. Sana was so engrossed in the film that she quickly forgot about the task at hand, but she paused to ask Momo, “Where is she going?” She only took her eyes off of the screen for a moment. 

“Mansfield Park, obviously,” Momo told her, and she did this little thing with her hands where she formed a little O shape as if that meant anything, and Sana choked out a laugh. “What?” Momo asked, furrowing her eyebrows. 

“What does that mean?” Sana asked, hand covering her mouth as she erupted in giggles before making the same shape. “What does that shape have to do with Mansfield Park?”

“I don’t know,” Momo admitted, her face flushed as she put on some oven mitts to take one of the pans out. “It just does.” 

“You’re adorable. Do you know that?” The words came out before Sana really thought about what she was saying, and they both froze once they were out in the open. Even though Sana was pretty sure this was a date at this point, she didn’t know how Momo felt, let alone how she herself felt about leading on a girl she was supposed to be spying on. 

“You’re adorable too,” Momo finally commented, and Sana couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. She grabbed her toothpick and blew on the cake as if she could single handedly make it cool to the touch as she stuck the toothpick inside the center. It came out clean, and she, immediately, turned to Momo, her eyes alight with unadulterated joy. “You’re like a wizard!” 

Momo started laughing so hard she choked, and Sana gestured for her to lift her hands into the air like her mother always told her to do when something went down the wrong pipe. Momo followed directions, and she coughed only a couple more times before breathing in like air was the finest commodity. 

“Are you okay?” Sana asked just to make sure, and the older woman nodded.

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face and fanning her cheeks gently. “I have a question for you though.”

“What is it?” She was distracted as she grabbed the TV remote and rewinded to a little before she’d gotten distracted by the baking and Momo. 

“Would you like to go to a party at my house?” 

Sana furrowed her eyebrows. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a party that wasn’t related to a book release. She didn’t know anyone that was a big partier. They weren’t really the type of people she tended to gel well with, so she mostly spent time by herself. She knew that was very stereotypical of a writer, but, in her defense, she’d spent a lot of the energy she had for other people in her days as a prison psychologist. No one quite understood what that was like for her. Even she didn’t fully grasp how much it had drained her sometimes. 

“What kind of party?” she asked to test the waters, even though part of her was ecstatic, knowing what kind of opportunity this was. 

“You took English. You probably know more than even I do,” Momo said, arching a single eyebrow. “A Gatsby party. What other kind is there? For people like us,” she clarified. 

“You consider yourself the modern Jay Gatsby?” Sana asked with a laugh, but Momo nodded.

“A little,” she admitted with a small shrug, and Sana arched an eyebrow of her own. 

“I mean, I guess I have to see what that means now,” she finally said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now, I’m curious.”

“It’ll be fun,” Momo replied as if she had to reassure her, but Sana was already sure that that, at least, would be the case. 

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Sana had said. “It’ll be fun,” she had thought, “if nothing else.” 

When she had said that it would be a Gatsby party, Sana had pictured fake gold decor and roaring twenties themed fashion. She herself had dressed in the closest thing she had to a flapper dress (despite the fact that it exposed her braces), figuring that would be the prerogative to blend in with everyone else, whoever “everyone else” was. 

It turned out that everyone else truly meant  _ everyone else _ . 

There were throngs of people, scattered along the way-too-green-to-be-real lawn, which smelled like it had been freshly trimmed in preparation for the day, so maybe it was real. The door to the house, which looked a bit too expensive for someone working at a literary magazine, was thrown open, and people who were clearly too drunk for their own good stumbled about without any care for the other attendees as if this was just a normal day for them. 

It was starting to dawn on Sana that, when Momo said a Gatsby party, she truly meant  _ a Gatsby party _ \- in every sense of the word. 

“Sana!” Momo called out as she stepped out of the house and saw the other woman slowly approaching. She was sure she looked timid next to the other guests, but she wasn’t sure how else she was meant to look without getting absolutely wasted, something she couldn’t imagine her agent handler would recommend for her to be doing around her target. “Did you dress up for the theme? You look great!” 

Sana smiled nervously, though she tried to shake her head and rid herself of that energy. Momo didn’t seem nervous, and neither did anyone else, so why should she? If this was their normal, it would have to become her normal too. “I did,” she said, having to raise her voice to be heard above the thrum of everyone else speaking, let alone the music blaring from speakers scattered around the property. 

“It’s cute,” Momo said and grabbed her hand to lead her back inside. She wondered if she had truly stepped inside a book for the day- like she was about to step into Momo’s library and comment on how all of the books were uncut and fake. 

They did walk past everyone to a room with bookshelves, but there were only two small ones, and the room itself seemed to be her room, not a library. She led her to the bed, which she sank down on without a second thought. 

“I know it’s a lot of people,” Momo said, pausing in front of a full length mirror to fix her hair and check if there was any lipstick on her teeth. “But I really like holding these parties every once in a while. I just think- well, we’re alive, so we might as well act like it.”

Sana pursed her lips into a thin line as she watched the woman walk to and fro about her room. She, albeit hesitantly, asked, “How often is every once in a while?” 

Momo hummed underneath her breath, cocking her head slightly to the side as she considered the question. “Maybe every other week? Something like that.”

Sana couldn’t imagine holding a party that often, and she couldn’t imagine why anyone else would either, unless they really were Jay Gatsby, and they were looking for someone important to them. 

“Do you want something to eat? Or a drink?” Momo asked, turning around to face her again, a nervous smile fluttering on her face. “I know you don’t like Pepsi, so I made sure we had plenty of Coke. The drink, of course,” she quickly clarified, although Sana wouldn’t be surprised to find out some of the guests were doing some kind of drugs, what with just how many people there really were. 

“I’ll have a Diet Coke,” she told her, letting the strap of her purse fall from her shoulder and grabbing some chapstick from inside it before applying it to her otherwise bare lips. “And- I don’t know what kind of snacks you have. Some chips I guess?” 

“A Diet Coke and some chips. Got it! Okay. I’ll be right back,” Momo said, almost stumbling in her heels as she walked through the door. Sana was sure she had been drinking, although she didn’t seem totally drunk at least. The heels were just very high- and her tolerance probably very low. 

She quickly opened her purse while Momo was gone and pulled what looked like just a regular pen from inside. That was the magic of spy tech- it looked like something completely normal by all accounts, but it really recorded conversations or registered fingerprints or shot lasers. Maybe not the last one, but she could always imagine that was really the case. 

This pen just so happened to record conversations within a forty-five foot radius. With a battery life of over sixteen hours, it was an amazing piece of technology that she’d specifically asked Jisoo for access to, knowing she’d be in Momo’s house and, hopefully, her room at some point. 

She rushed to place it inside a cup full of different pencils and pens and, then, returned to her spot on Momo’s bed as if nothing had even happened- as if she really was as innocent as she pretended. 

When Momo came back with a plate full of potato chips and a can of Diet Coke, Sana merely smiled and graciously accepted the food like a gift specially made for her. 

The two curled up on Momo’s bed- once Momo had loaded up her favorite  _ Pride and Prejudice  _ adaptation on her laptop. Sana pretended not to notice whenever the woman stole one of her chips, merely relaxing onto the plush surface and trying not to close her eyes for so long that she fell asleep. She wanted to pay attention to the movie, even though she had a better idea of how this one went than  _ Mansfield Park _ . She just knew what it would look like if it had just a couple more zombies thrown onto the page. 

Still, she ended up, eventually, falling asleep. But, when she stirred awake, she was cold with no one left beside her, and she furrowed her eyebrows at what sounded like crying. She blinked her eyes open and saw Momo on the floor, a hand covering her mouth as sobs wracked her small frame. 

Sana, immediately, pushed herself off the bed and kneeled down beside her, pulling her face into her shoulder, so she could let out her tears if she wanted to. “Are you okay?” she asked, brushing a couple strands of hair that were plastered to her damp cheeks out of her face. It was a dumb question- of course she wasn’t alright. But she didn’t know what else to ask.

“You’re gonna think I’m insane,” Momo groaned, lifting her head to rub at her eyes, but another wave of tears hit, and she pressed her face into the crook between Sana’s shoulder and her neck. “I think someone’s after me.”

Sana tried to steel her expression, so Momo wouldn’t know what she was thinking. But she had to wonder how Momo had figured her out so quickly, even if it didn’t seem she knew it was her. 

“Why do you think that?” she asked slowly, hoping she just sounded doubtful. 

“I found this pen on my desk,” Momo said, pushing herself off of the floor to grab the pen where it still laid. “I think it has a recording device in it.”

“Why would you think that?” Sana asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “Why would anyone want to record you?” 

“Why would someone randomly leave their pen on my desk, unless they wanted something from me?” Momo shook her head, ignoring the second question. “Were you asleep this entire time? Did you not see anyone come in?” 

Sana pursed her lips into a thin line and shook her head, hoping she sounded apologetic as she said, “I was. I didn’t see anyone. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Momo replied, chewing on her lower lip. She glanced down at the pen in her hands and said, “It’ll be fine as long as they don’t get their pen back.” She held it out to Sana, who cocked her head to the side, not understanding what she wanted from her. “Can you take it?” she asked, and Sana noticed her lips quiver, and her hand was shaking slightly too. “Just go somewhere obscure and get rid of it?” 

Sana gingerly plucked it from her hand, staring down at the pen, almost in fascination but not at the object itself- instead, at how thoroughly Momo seemed to trust her. It made her heart clench uncomfortably, something she’d only ever really experienced when she worked in prisons. 

“I’ll get rid of it. Don’t worry,” she told her, and Momo smiled as wide as she possibly could under the given circumstances. 

“So how’d you like  _ Pride and Prejudice _ ?”

“Way less zombies than I remembered.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’m sorry it’s been so long since I updated this story. I had a really busy December and felt very unmotivated throughout most of January, so it’s been difficult to get any writing in. But I’m, finally, making progress again. I do go back to school on the first, so I might not be posting as much as I once was, but I do plan on writing as much as I possibly can while still doing well in my classes. But yeah. I hope you guys had a good holiday season, that you’re safe, and that you enjoyed today’s chapter. Please leave a comment if you did because your comments always motivate me to write more and quicker, and they just, generally, make me really happy. Bye for now!


	3. Chapter 3

Sana had never (willingly) written a poem before. She’d had to write several back when she was getting her degree. Hell, she’d taken an entire introductory class on them, and yet she still had to keep glancing back at the format of what a pantoum was supposed to look like, trying to figure out just how the hell she was going to make this work. 

She pressed a hand to her forehead, brushing her bangs back out of her face as she asked- herself? Some god she didn’t believe in? She didn’t really know- was she just wasting her time? She could quite easily write a haiku, probably in a couple minutes tops, and be done with this. Or she could even just pretend she forgot about this god forsaken contest altogether. And, considering her deadline kept creeping closer and closer, Momo would probably believe that.

But she had asked her if she could write a pantoum. And goddamnit, she was gonna write a fucking pantoum if it killed her- which it just might. 

That was what she told herself when her phone beeped in her pocket, and part of her threatened the other part of her that wanted to check whatever message it was she had received. She didn’t know what she would do to herself, but she was sure it would be painful. Unfortunately, writing this pantoum already seemed plenty painful, so the threat didn’t go down quite as planned as she pulled her phone out of her sweatshirt and pressed a thumb to the home button, watching as the screen lit up and quickly unlocked itself once it recognized her fingerprint. 

She opened iMessages without a second thought but merely stared at the last text she’d received.

It was from Momo, who was, usually, very diligent in her writing, using proper grammar and spelling, even more than Sana herself did. But this text had no capitalization and practically any and all typos possible.  _ im st tje parl.  _ It took her a second to decipher what it meant: she was at the park? What was she doing, wandering around the city when she was clearly drunk? And why was she drunk again so soon after her party? Was this a habit of hers that she had simply kept from her until now? And why now? There were so many questions. Her brain hurt as they circled through her thoughts, whirling like the teacups in that ride at Disney World. 

Her phone beeped again, and she peered down at the new message with furrowed eyebrows.  _ cam u comr.  _ She glanced at the top of her screen for the time- 11:38 at night. Was it really safe to be out in a park in London at this hour? She wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t like safety had ever been an issue for her in her endeavors before. And she certainly didn’t want Momo to be out, drunk and alone, at this hour. It wasn’t herself that she had to worry about. 

_ I’ll be there in five _ , she quickly replied, grabbing her keys from where she had tossed them onto the coffee table in her living room. She still had her braces on, so she didn’t have to rush and get them or anything. She was ready to go. At least she supposed she was- maybe she’d feel differently when she saw whatever state Momo was in. 

She saw a woman on the swings as she pulled up to the street beside the local park. She pulled lightly on her door to make sure she had locked it before stepping slowly in the direction of the swing set. What if it wasn’t Momo there? What if she was talking about a different park? Was any of this even remotely safe? 

She felt the breath flow out of her when she was close enough to recognize Momo, rocking gently back and forth on the swing. She rushed forward, sitting down on the one next to her and swinging back and forth herself, so her feet just barely grazed the ground, and the only sound wasn’t just their soft breathing. 

“You haven’t spoken to me in a couple of days,” she finally spoke when she was swinging the highest the equipment would let her go, the breath practically knocked out of her. 

“ _ I haven’t really left my house _ ,” Momo slurred- and in Japanese-, her head drooping to the side. She ran a hand through her bangs, lifting them off her forehead and simply lingering like that.

“ _ Why not _ ?” Sana asked, finally slowing down her swinging. Momo’s voice was so soft, she struggled to hear it while she was so high up in the air, and Momo was still grounded. Plus, she hadn’t spoken Japanese in quite a long time, so she was definitely quite rusty. 

“ _ The pen _ ,” Momo muttered, and it wasn’t until Sana heard the soft sound of her sniffling that she realized how upset she still was. “ _ Someone’s after me. I know it. _ ”

“ _ Why would someone be after you though _ ?” Sana asked, placing her hand gently on Momo’s shoulder. “ _ You haven’t done anything wrong _ ,” she added, cocking her head slightly to the side. “ _ Have you _ ?” 

“ _ You said you were a prison psychologist? _ ” Momo asked suddenly, and Sana furrowed her eyebrows at the question. She didn’t understand why that was relevant to what they were talking about, but she nodded anyway. “ _ What kind of people did you meet while you worked there? _ ”

Sana hummed underneath her breath as she considered how exactly she was meant to answer that. “ _ Lots _ ,” she replied eventually. “ _ Lots and lots. I had to treat everything from petty thieves to murderers and rapists _ .” They weren’t fond memories of hers, but they were certainly plentiful. 

“ _ And how did you feel about those people, who did such horrible things? _ ”

Sana didn’t understand where Momo was going with this, shaking her head as she glanced at the woman, who was staring down at her feet where they grazed the ground. “ _ I mean, there are things even I can’t forgive _ ,” she said slowly, watching Momo finally peer up at her face. “ _ But I’m probably a hell of a lot more forgiving than the average person _ .” She was quiet for a moment that dragged on into a minute and, then, several more. “ _ Why _ ?” she finally asked, something tugging in her chest as the word, finally, tumbled out of her mouth. 

“ _ I did something really bad _ ,” Momo said, reaching a hand up to her mouth to try and physically hold back the sob that clawed itself from her throat. “ _ Really, really bad _ .”

“ _ I’m sure it wasn’t that bad _ ,” Sana spoke softly, reaching a hand out to rub her shoulder gently. But she wasn’t sure- because she knew at least part of what Momo was hiding, and it wasn’t anything good. “ _ You can tell me. I won’t judge. _ ”

“ _ You have to understand he hurt me first, _ ” Momo insisted, grabbing onto Sana’s hand, her own shaking with every word that escaped her lips. “ _ He-he… he hurt me first _ .”

“ _ He hurt you first _ ,” Sana agreed, nodding her head to confirm she heard and, more importantly, believed her. “ _ Got it _ .”

“ _ He was asleep _ ,” Momo said, and she was starting to breath erratically. Sana brushed her thumb across the back of her hand to let her know she was there, and she was listening, and she believed her. “ _ That’s how much he believed I wouldn’t do anything. Because he knew I didn’t want to _ .”

“Momo,” Sana murmured, knocking their knees together. “ _ It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. _ ” 

“ _ I want to though, _ ” Momo told her, squeezing her hand like she was her mom, watching as she got a shot at the doctor. “ _ He’d taken out his knife while he was taking his clothes off, _ ” she whispered. “ _ He put it on the nightstand, so it would be safe and easy to find when he woke up. But I- _ ” She went quiet, her lips trembling as she tried but failed to speak what she was thinking. Tears spilled from her eyes onto her cheeks, and she tried brushing them away, but they just kept coming back, each wave stronger than the last. 

“ _ He didn’t wake up _ ,” Sana finally guessed, smiling reassuringly as Momo looked up with wide eyes. “ _ Did he _ ?”

Momo shook her head, falling forward like she was crumbling down and stuffing her face in her hands as she cried. “ _ H-he did, b-but…”  _

“ _ Hey _ ,” Sana said gently, rubbing her shoulder again, but she got no response. She peeled one of her hands away from her eyes and peered down at her. “ _ Hey. Momo. It’s okay. I swear. It’s me, remember _ ?” She pulled her into a hug, a tight one, as she tried to hold back her own sniffling. “ _ It’s Sana _ .” 

“ _ Are you going to tell anyone _ ?” Momo moaned, clenching her hand into a shaking fist and holding it to her lips as she stared into Sana’s soul like hers was breaking. “ _ Please- please don’t tell anyone. _ ”

“ _ I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to tell anyone, _ ” Sana assured her, voice as quiet as possible, even if they were alone. “ _ But can you tell me what he did to you _ ?” she asked, albeit hesitantly. Because she had read that book about a yakuza’s daughter, and she remembered the horrors the author had described all too well. 

“ _ Bad- bad things _ ,” Momo whimpered, cupping her mouth with a shaking hand. “ _ You know  _ The Pillowman _? _ ” she asked after a moment of silence while Sana rubbed her back gently- reassuringly. 

Sana nodded her head, though she furrowed her eyebrows at the question. She had read the play in one of her college classes, a theater elective she’d taken on a whim because it counted for English credit hours too. The story had always disturbed her, but she didn’t say that. Perhaps, part of her knew where this was going.

“ _ That’s all I could think of as I did it _ ,” she murmured, wiping her nose since it had started running. Sana didn’t comment on the snot that got caught on her hand, just laying her head on the woman’s shoulder and whispering sweet nothings. “ _ I smothered him _ ,” she finally admitted, choking on another sob. “ _ I smothered him with a pillow while he _ -” She physically couldn’t get the words out, her body trembling as it was wracked with violent sobs. 

“ _ It’s okay _ ,” Sana said, even though it wasn’t. It never would be, and she felt guilty pretending it even could be remotely alright. “ _ I’m here _ ,” she told her instead, and she kept repeating it as Momo cried. “ _ I’m here _ .”

“ _ But will you always be _ ?” Momo asked after a few minutes. “ _ Will you always be here _ ?” 

“ _ If you want me to be _ ,” Sana told her, lifting her head to look into the woman’s eyes. They were such a dark brown, they blended in with her pupils in the night. “ _ I’ll be here as long as you want me to be _ .”

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Momo sniffled, leaning her own head on Sana’s shoulder. The woman was steady as if she were calm in that moment. It wasn’t true- not at all, but she was glad to be a shoulder that Momo could cry on, despite the negative emotions bubbling in her own chest, making it feel so tight she struggled to breathe clearly. 

“ _ Do you want me to take you home? _ ” Sana asked quietly, and Momo just nodded. Sana made sure to squeeze her hand before she stood up, and Momo soon followed her the short distance to her car. 

“I’d like to pretend I’m surprised,” Jisoo commented as she bit into her sandwich, sitting across from Sana in their booth at the local sub place they always met at. “But I was kinda expecting some kinda tragic backstory like that, all things considered.”

Sana frowned as she chewed on her own food. She didn’t like to think of it like that. It made Momo seem more like a character for them to obsess over than what she really was- a person. Sana knew it might have helped Jisoo do her work to think of people like Momo like that. She couldn’t entirely blame her. She would go crazy in her line of work if she didn’t think like that. But she still didn’t like it. 

“Did she ever end up telling you what he did?” she asked after a moment’s silence. “Or who “he” was?” she added. 

“Do you really think I wouldn’t have said as much upfront if I knew?” 

Jisoo hummed underneath her breath before shaking her head. “Good point. I’ll give you that. But still. It’d be nice to know some actual, solid information.”

“I’ll try to get it out of her eventually,” Sana murmured, and Jisoo stared at her, opening her mouth like she wanted to say something before seemingly deciding against it and shutting it. That was the thing about being a spy. There were certain missions where you knew exactly how long they’d last, whether it was because you were looking after someone with a certain plan for a certain day in the works or for some other reason. But there were, also, missions like this where you didn’t know how long you’d be working on it for. You just had to hope you figured things out before anything too bad happened. 

“Do you have any idea why she’s having these massive parties?” Jisoo asked suddenly, and Sana sighed before shaking her head. She hated it that she didn’t have any real information for the woman, but she had only been able to gather so much. Perhaps things would have been better if she hadn’t found her pen before it could record anything interesting. 

“On that topic though, I was wondering,” Sana spoke up, and Jisoo looked up from her food curiously, “do we have any records of other people with the last name Hirai in the area?” 

“That might be a good place to start,” Jisoo admitted before nodding and taking out her phone to write herself a reminder. “You think there’s another member of her family somewhere here?”

“I don’t have any real reasons to infer that,” Sana said, “but it’s one of the few things that makes sense.”

“You’d have to figure out why they didn’t report this other member of the family, coming here though,” Jisoo pointed out, and Sana let her head fall into her palm as she sighed through her nose. 

“Maybe they didn’t know,” she replied, drumming her fingers against her cheeks in thought. “We still don’t even know who “they” are,” she added, and Jisoo nodded absentmindedly.

“We’ve tried figuring out who it was,” she said, pursing her lips into a thin line. “There are no leads though.”

“I would like to hope it was someone who’s on our side,” Sana muttered, picking at her food. “They were just scared or something. But I don’t think Momo’s all that scary. I’m afraid “they” are someone we should be scared of.”

“Your job is finding out what Momo’s doing here,” Jisoo reminded her, reaching out a hand to squeeze Sana’s gently. “Leave that mystery up to me. Okay?” 

Sana paused for a moment before conceding with a nod. 

“Besides,” Jisoo spoke as she swallowed a particularly big bite of her sandwich, “I know you like Momo, but she should be plenty scary. She killed someone. Don’t forget that just because she seems nice.” 

“You’re right,” Sana said, gnawing on her lower lip. “I know you are. But it’s still hard when she acts like- well, maybe not a normal person. But a good one.” 

“I can get someone else on this case if it becomes too difficult for you,” Jisoo reminded her, and Sana was shaking her head before she knew what she was doing. 

“ _ No _ ,” she insisted before pausing as she realized how odd her behavior must have seemed. “I mean- I need the money,” she said, even though that was the last of her worries. 

“Aren’t you about to publish a new book?” Jisoo asked, and Sana began to gnaw on her lip again. So she had told Jisoo about that.

But the woman didn’t know much about publishing. “It’s gonna be awhile before it’s actually in stores,” she said, playing with a lock of hair nervously. “I’m gonna have to wait a little while longer before I make any real money off of it,” she added and tied a single strand tightly around her finger. 

“Oh,” Jisoo replied, putting down her food and grabbing the straw to her drink to take a long, pensive sip. “Then, I’ll leave you be.” Cocking her head to the side, so she could catch Sana’s eye, even as she tried to avoid looking directly at the other woman, she reminded her, “You can always tell me if things become too difficult for you. I’m willing to get you out of there.”

“No. I mean- I know,” Sana said, waving her hands in front of her face before sighing. “I just want to see this one through,” she admitted, though she didn’t state why. She was sure Jisoo had some ideas, but she didn’t argue, merely nodding her head and mumbling something under her breath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you guys are doing well and that you enjoyed this chapter. I’m currently trying to balance school and writing, so updates might be a little all over the place, but I promise I will finish this story. I’m not just gonna stop writing it, so please don’t give up on it. And please leave a comment if you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you liked about it! It really helps motivate me to write and get these chapters up faster!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you enjoyed today's chapter. And, if you did, it would mean the world if you left a comment, letting me know what you liked about it. I know it's been awhile since I updated my other fanfic, Burnt Bridges, and, now, here I am, starting a new story. But, if you care about BB, just know there will be an update within the next couple days. Regardless, I hope you're all doing well and staying safe and that my writing might bring you some joy in a difficult time. Have a good day!


End file.
